


A Semblance of Care

by kibasniper



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Banter, During Canon, Gen, Magic, Rivalry, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Ange was supposed to be spared of Rokkenjima's horrors. Beatrice can't fathom why she would willingly return, but for a moment, it's all in good fun.





	A Semblance of Care

Ange had been the only one to really be spared the horrors of that island, and yet, she still chose to live in the past.

To Beatrice, it was like watching a child trying to rip off a tablecloth. The table was fitted with rich platters of food and wine, each more delectable and savory than the last. Filled with chattering guests and clinking silverware, the atmosphere was perfect.

The uninvited guest just had to cause a stir. She tried ripping the fine cloth off, grunting and burning redder than the hottest flame with unwavering exertion. Each pull caused wrinkles in the linen, but it was useless. The platters remained secured in their spots as the guests continued to devour slabs of meat and cake, and the wine only stirred in the golden chalices, unnoticed by Beatrice’s precious guests.

All of her fruitless efforts left Ange throwing herself on the floor. When no one noticed her, she stirred up a temper tantrum unlike anything Beatrice had ever seen. Pounding her fists and legs against the ground, screaming louder and louder to the point where her own ears began to ring, it maddened her thoughts.

She was thankful when she sparred Ange. Seeing her turn into such a forlorn woman almost made her reconsider.

Beatrice set her pipe to her lips and slowly inhaled. She closed her eyes to the daggers aimed her way and exhaled a cloud of pale gray smoke in her direction. Leaning back in her seat, she languidly opened her eyes and addressed the snarling intruder.

“You...really are here,” she said, resting her pipe on her lap. “Though, I shouldn’t even say that. You did make such a bold, provocative entrance that would make a lesser witch blush.”

Ange tightened her grip on her elbows. “Surprised to see me?”

“Of course. Lady Bernkastel usually doesn’t bring in pieces unless she knows she can conspire to win.” She spun her pipe between her fingers like a bored student would do with her pencil. “You being her new furniture is...odd, confusing.”

“And why is that? Because I’m from the future? Because I’m the last Golden Witch?” She snorts. “As if that should deter a monster like you.”

Beatrice cackled, tossing her head up and stretching her lips into her cheeks. Such audacity was refreshing. Compared to melancholy Battler wasting away in his chamber after her plan worked so magnificently, a challenger livened up her spirits. She almost felt like she could dive into the half-finished fourth game just to humiliate Ange and force her understand her place. Watching her confident expression twist into the deepest despair would have been the best appetizer before the main course.

Her gigging trailed off as Ange cleared her throat. She had to compose herself. She didn’t know what magic Bernkastel supplied to Ange. While Ange was granted immunity to magical attacks, if she knew Bernkastel well, which was hardly at all, then there must have been something more. Bernkastel would never barge into a battlefield without having an ace up her sleeve, and if her deeper fear proved true, then Ange was walking straight into hellfire.

She subtly swallowed, her choker hiding it well. Crossing her legs, Beatrice gestured for her to sit in Battler’s seat. “Come, come. As Bernkastel’s guest, I’ve already welcomed you.” She bore down on her teeth. “I won’t bite. I’ve already had my fill of your brother’s anguish.”

Ange flinched, her resolve wavering for a mere moment. Beatrice snickered, tapping the table with her pipe. In a puff of smoke came a ceramic plate filled to the brim with colorful macarons packed to the brim with buttercream that left Ange’s eyebrows raising to her hairline.

“See? I’m not so mean. You can have as many as you want, too,” she offered, plucking a deep purple treat and twisting it around.

Popping it in her mouth, she chuckled as Ange glared at the floor. She knew that tactic all too well. Acting uninterested to protect herself was a classic move in popular media, one she had read hundreds of times before and had gotten bored of far too quickly.

“I’ve already perfected the tsundere trope. You can drop it,” Beatrice jeered, gnashing down on her macaron.

Bits of buttercream stained her lips, and she licked them clean. She watched Ange shudder, her brow crinkling and mouth twisting in offense. Heat pooled in her cheeks, her second sign of wavering before the great witch.

“D-don’t call me that. What’s a thousand-year-old monster even doing with that kind of knowledge?” Ange spat, crossing over to the seat. She rubbed the armrest as if searching for some kind of trap before sitting down.

“Aw, your tsun tsun ways are adorable! As expected of that hotheaded moron’s sister.”

Flushing, Ange balled her hand into a fist and blurted, “Onii-chan isn’t someone you can insult like that! You-!”

Raising her pipe, Beatrice levitated a macaron and stuffed it in Ange’s mouth. She yelped, flailing and chomping down instinctively. Coughing, she caused tiny splotches of buttercream to stain her bow. She cupped her mouth and stuffed the treat past her teeth, her wide eyes gazing through the smirking witch.

Slowly, she chewed, and Beatrice knew exactly what she was tasting. Sweet, sugary, raspberry buttercream and moist cookies melted in her mouth. The way Ange finally lowered her defenses just for that moment gave Beatrice her first victory.

“Delicious, no? Ronove is certainly an excellent baker, but that’s to be expected of my high class furniture. Have more if you’d like. I can always summon more of his delicacies.” Beatrice clapped her hands. “Oh, I’ve forgotten something important! What’s a macaron without tea? Just a pastry by itself. Let me rectify that for my esteemed guest.”

Ange observed with rapt attention. The same sparkle shining in her pupils reminded Beatrice of an era long gone, but it empowered her nonetheless. For a moment, she could pretend Ange was her student again.

She waved her pipe left and right with the flair of an expert swordswoman. Slashing the very air summoned two golden butterflies. She let them perch on her free palm, giggling as they tickled her skin with their antennae. With a flick of her wrist, she released them and laughed like a child. They fluttered towards the tables and landed, their wings slowly flapping until they stilled.

Beatrice snapped her fingers, and the butterflies burst into a fine powder. The short gasp Ange elicited was all she needed to hear. In the place of butterflies were two cups filled almost to the brim with rose tea, the floral fragrance heavenly.

“A trick of the light, a...a trick,” Ange vacantly mumbled, and Beatrice snatched another macaron.

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward. “Don’t dismiss courtesy with impertinence. You don’t know what I could really do to you.” 

Her opponent grimaced, digging her fingers into her thighs. Hot shame ran across her features. She shook, thoroughly bested, and without the knowledge of the witch’s tricks, she stewed in her anger.

Tilting her head, Beatrice popped the treat in her mouth and as she chewed, said, “We’ll save the incompetent rhetoric for your brother’s arrival and the true start of the game.” Swallowing, she sighed and laced her fingers around her pipe. “For a moment, I’ll welcome you as an old friend.”

“What do you-?” Ange shook her head. “No. I’m not part of-”

“You were whether you’d like to admit it or not.” She curled her fingers around her cup. “Rather, it doesn’t matter if you remember the lessons I taught you years ago. You’ve already chosen your path, haven’t you?”

Narrowing her eyes, she clutched her own teacup. “I have.”

Taking a ginger sip, Beatrice gazed at her reflection in the deep pink liquid. “Even if I were to force you to turn back, you wouldn’t.”

“Of course not. I’ve already thrown my life away for this moment.” Ange sipped, her eyes brightening for a moment only to darken as soon as she swallowed. “I won’t lose to the likes of someone like you.”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, she shook her head. “You siblings, you really are on varying competency levels, but right now, I’d wager you’re worse than him.”

Chuckling as Ange’s cheeks burned the color of her hair, Beatrice lifted her head as she guzzled down her tea. She listened to Ange grumble, drink, and eat to her leisure. They were comforting sounds as if Beatrice could enjoy their time together before returning to her duty as the Game Master.

The fourth game was still a long way to go until completion. Even with Lambdadelta breathing down her neck to finish it, she allowed time to idly pass. She wanted to entertain the girl who rudely intercepted her resurrection ceremony, the girl who chose to forsake the future for the truth of the past.

Setting her teacup on the plate, she rolled her shoulders back and let Ange take her pick of the macarons. With a tiny smile gracing her face, she supposed it was fine to continue on in silence.

In the end, for Ange’s sake, all she could do was hope for a miracle against the Witch the Miracles.


End file.
